


Truly Madly Deeply

by bailong05



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lime, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bailong05/pseuds/bailong05
Summary: For the first time in a long time, Jack Spicer doesn't show up at Chase's citadel to annoy him. In the peace that follows, Chase is no longer able to ignore his feelings. Rated to be safe.





	Truly Madly Deeply

Jack Spicer annoyed Chase Young every single day. Every single, fucking day, the boy waltzed into his citadel like he owned it, like it was easy to get past all the traps and security measures Chase had in place, not to mention the jungle cats, to give him that wide, stupid grin and proceed to annoy the shit out of him. He’d given up kicking him out because he’d just be back within an hour, instead giving him odd, ridiculous jobs around the citadel that he seemed quite happy to do—and still somehow managed to annoy him while doing them. Every. Single. Day.

Except today. It only took ten minutes for Chase to realize Jack was late. Despite Wuya’s moaning about the boy always sleeping late, he always waltzed into his citadel at 8:30 every morning, on the dot, even on weekends. For a brief—very brief—moment, he considered going to see what was holding him up. But why would he want to disturb his rare moments of peace while they lasted? No doubt he would be along to disturb him soon enough.

But he wasn’t. Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by without Jack Spicer. Chase was able to accomplish quite a lot of things he once did before Spicer had literally dropped into his life. It was refreshing. It was peaceful. It was…

Boring as hell.

Still, he resisted the growing temptation to go find the boy and demand to know where he was and why he wasn’t presenting his annoying face at the citadel for his chores. He liked boring. Boring was nice. Boring was simple. Boring meant he was left alone. Boring was the way he’d lived for centuries before Spicer messed it all up.

But… maybe he should check in on him. Just in case. Jack had grown a lot in the years it had been since he’d first met him. He was a young adult now, although he was still as obnoxious as he was as a child. He wasn’t quite as incompetent, but it wouldn’t be unrealistic to think he’d found some way to get himself into trouble he was incapable of getting himself out of.

He could let him suffer for awhile. Obnoxious and mildly incompetent though he was, the boy had remarkable survival skills. No matter what bizarre and ridiculous situation he managed to get into, he always seemed to come out with little more than a few cuts and bruises each time.

It was only after the sun went down and he’d spent an entire blissful, boring day without him that he finally sighed and went to his scrying orb, willing it to show him Jack Spicer. He blinked when he found him curled up, still in the clothes he’d worn the day before, sleeping fitfully at his front door.

His brow came together. He was pretty sure the boy had left to go home the night before, but he couldn’t be entirely sure because he didn’t really watch to make certain anymore. He just slammed the door shut behind him and went about his business Spicer-free. Something obviously had happened, but what? He’d been his usual obnoxious self yesterday, without even a hint that something was wrong—and generally, Chase could tell when something was bothering or upsetting him. He wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions. Had he run into trouble on the way home and come back to seek refuge?

He didn’t know, and now he had to deal with it. Fantastic. Just what he wanted. There went his blissfully boring day.

The sound of the door opening startled Jack awake. Chase watched as he scrambled to his feet, swaying a little as he turned to face him.

“Hey Chase,” he said, trying and failing to sound like his normal self. His voice was tired and subdued. “Guess you’re here to tell me to leave.”

The young man turned, the light streaming through the door glinting off something on his face as he did. Tears. Jack had been crying.

“Spicer.”

“Yeah?”

The redhead turned back automatically, red eyes landing on him. It was… disturbing… to see the evidence of how hard he’d cried. It was almost as if his eyes were bleeding. His natural red pupils were now set against a backdrop of more red, the whites of his eyes red and irritated, the skin around them red and puffy.

He didn’t like it.

“Why are you crying on my doorstep?” he demanded. Jack shrugged.

“Had nowhere else to go.”

“What about your own home?”

Something passed over Jack’s face, and he didn’t reply. Chase closed his eyes.

“If I order you to leave, where would you go?”

He forced the question from his throat, already knowing the answer. Jack shrugged. He sighed.

“Come.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“W-What? Chase—”

“Don’t make me regret this, Spicer,” he snapped, turning on his heel, “Now come in before I change my mind.”

Thankfully Jack didn’t have to be told again, scampering past him into the citadel. His general, a tiger who had been one of the first warriors he’d defeated after Turning and also the cat whom he had deal with Jack the most, was already waiting not far inside the door.

“Take him to his room,” he ordered. The tiger dipped his head. Jack didn’t protest, just followed his general into the depths of his citadel. Chase did not follow.

He needed a drink.

It was another hour before he finally made his way to the room that Jack had been escorted to. He needed to figure out why the boy was here. The sooner he could figure it out, the sooner the boy could leave. He gave the door a cursory knock before opening it—finding him shirtless.

His back was covered in bruises.

There wasn’t a single inch of pale white skin to be seen, all of it dark, angry shades of purple, blue, and black. He spun around to face him, eyes wide, allowing him to see the bruises littering the front of his torso also. His hand tightened on the doorknob.

“Who?”

The word was less a question, more of a command, a demand to tell him who had hurt him. Chase was Heylin and on the side of evil—considered, even, a Heylin Prince by some—but not because he found enjoyment in the suffering of others. He found the idea of brutalizing those weaker than him repulsive, in fact, which is why he had never done so to Jack, although he had certainly thought about it.

He didn’t particularly enjoy verbal abuse, either, although he couldn’t claim to have abstained from that when it came to Jack. Jack was a special case, however. He was the only one he spoke to in such fashion, mostly because Jack was capable of getting under his skin and irritating him in a way no one else could. He also never seemed to take his jabs and insults seriously, which were—to be completely honest—designed and intended to drive the boy away. Clearly it had never worked.

Jack looked away, the same shadow crossing his face that had crossed it outside. Chase set his jaw.

“Your father, then,” he surmised coolly, not needing to see Jack flinch to know it was true. “Does he do this often?”

“Only when he’s drunk,” Jack said, still not looking at him. The “and home” went unsaid.

Chase knew very well that Jack’s parents were distant, hardly ever around, and that he was lonely because of it. It was one of the reasons he had never resorted to more drastic measures to chase him off. He questioned the boy’s sanity on a daily basis, wondering why he continued to seek companionship from someone who deliberately and knowingly insulted and belittled him, but allowed him to continue coming around because he knew he had no one else.

He knew what loneliness felt like. He had made his choices and had never backed down from them, but in doing so he’d isolated himself from the people who had once cared about him. He found no desire to be in the company of the other Heylin villains, finding them all repugnant and unworthy of his time. Jack, as incompetent and obnoxious as he was, was not someone he found truly repugnant.

He sighed, forcing himself to let go of the doorknob. He glanced to the side, unsurprised to find his general standing quietly next to him, a jar of ointment held delicately in his powerful jaws. His warriors had developed a soft spot for Jack, although the young man was likely unaware of that. He treated all of them as if they were more than simple cats, which they were. Most assumed Chase kept his warriors in cat form to keep them under his control, when in reality the majority of his warriors preferred their cat form. So long as they didn’t attempt to murder him in his sleep, he allowed them to remain in whichever form they were most comfortable in. For some inexplicable reason, almost all of them chose to be a cat.

To be fair, most who came face to face with his warriors underestimated them as cats, giving them an edge over their opponents they liked to take full advantage of. They saw an animal—a big, scary animal with sharp claws and teeth, but an animal all the same. Jack didn’t. Jack knew all of their names and spent a considerable amount of time talking with them. Or at them, really, since none of them had yet to revert to human form to carry out an actual conversation. It would happen soon, no doubt, because Jack had recently asked him for a list of things to get them—all of them—for Christmas, which he’d provided without fuss. His warriors rarely got recognition from others beyond him; if Jack wanted to buy all of them individual gifts for a holiday very few of them actually celebrated, he wasn’t going to stop him.

He took the ointment from his general, thanking him with a nod and a hand on his head, silently reassuring him that he would make sure Jack would heal as quickly and efficiently as possible. Jingyi pushed his head into his hand in response, then turned on silent paws and padded away. Chase wouldn’t be surprised if the news reported investigators were puzzled how a foreigner came to be mauled by a wild animal in the middle of the city. He would be sure to plant evidence to suggest Mr. Spicer was trafficking illegal exotic pets, perhaps even leading them straight to an actual exotic pet ring to give the evidence more weight.

For now, however, he entered Jack’s sleeping quarters.

“Lay down.”

Jack stared at him, his wide red eyes thankfully no longer disturbing as they had been. The whites of his eyes had mostly returned to their proper color, only a few red veins still prominently visible. The skin surrounding his eyes was still puffy, but not as red as before.

“Chase, what—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Spicer,” he said as gently as he could manage, suddenly aware that there was a real possibility Jack had misinterpreted his intentions in light of the abuse he’d suffered, “This is a medicinal ointment that will help heal your bruises.”

He opened the jar, showing Jack the contents. The ointment smelled strongly, as most medicinal ointments did, and the smell was unmistakable as medicine. Relief entered Jack’s expression, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Thanks,” he whispered, moving to do as ordered. He nodded once.

“Back first,” he said, dipping his fingers into the ointment. The worst of the abuse had obviously landed on his back, no doubt because Jack had tried to protect his stomach and chest as much as possible. Jack obediently lay on his stomach, his breath hitching slightly when he began to spread the ointment over him. He tried to be as gentle as he possibly could as he worked it into his abused flesh, watching him carefully to be sure he didn’t accidentally hurt him. Jack pressed his face into his pillow, his hands curling into the blankets underneath him, but didn’t make a sound.

“Turn over.”

He spoke the order softly when he finished applying the ointment to Jack’s back. The young man trembled, but complied, eyes squeezed shut and face turned away. He wasn’t surprised to find him partially aroused; he had never been quiet about his attraction to him. He said nothing, just began working the ointment into Jack’s chest.

It was likely because the bruising wasn’t nearly so bad on his chest that helped Jack become even more aroused as he did, struggling to remain still under his hands. Chase finished applying the ointment clinically, wiping his hands on Jack’s dirty t-shirt and screwing the lid back on the jar. Jack was crying again, probably for a very different reason now.

“I-I-I’ll ju—just g-go,” he began, face still turned away.

“Hush.”

The command brought Jack’s gaze to him. He met it, then slowly—deliberately—rested his hand on Jack’s lower stomach, right above the waistband of his jeans.

“Ch-Chase…?”

He slid his hand down until it was on top of the fastening of Jack’s jeans, still watching him. Jack’s gaze was locked on his, but he didn’t ask him to stop. He waited a heartbeat longer, wanting to be absolutely sure Jack was okay with what he was doing before continuing. The redhead nodded.

He undid Jack’s pants, pushing the fabric down. Jack raised his hips to make it easier. He gripped his hips lightly with both hands, still keeping his gaze on his face. If he gave him even the slightest indication he wasn’t comfortable, he would stop.

But he didn’t. Chase pulled his boxers down, freeing Jack completely. The first touch had him moaning softly, dropping his head back against his pillow. He watched him closely, taking note of everything that drew a reaction from the young man. Jack was extremely sensitive; the slightest touch had him mewling and squirming beneath his hand. Pale lips parted, his entire body flushing in a way Chase found… beautiful. His hips rose further, pushing himself more firmly into his hand as he stroked him, hands fisting into the blankets. He came with a cry, Chase’s name falling from his lips. He lay, panting, staring up at him in disbelief.

“Why?” he whispered. He sighed.

“Because I wanted to.”

Jack didn’t seem to understand his answer, looking more bewildered than before. His gaze dropped, finding the evidence of Chase’s own arousal. He pushed himself up on his elbow, reaching for him. Chase caught his wrist.

“You’re injured,” he said quietly, “I do not expect you to return any favors.”

“B-But—”

“Jack.”

It was the use of his given name that silenced him, Chase knew. He had never used it before, never in that tone. He leaned over him, kissing him softly. His hand slipped down from his wrist, fingers threading through the younger man’s. Jack’s breath hitched, red eyes widening before closing, head tilting back to give him easier access.

Red. Bright and passionate, it was the color of blood, of life—of Jack. He couldn’t see the color without thinking of him anymore.

His own eyes closed as he allowed himself—for the first time—to give into his feelings. He would have to explain; he could feel Jack’s confusion even through their kiss. He pulled his mouth away with great effort, taking a deep breath.

“This is not the first time I have been aroused by you,” he confessed softly, “You…”

He trailed off. How did he tell him this?

“You make me smile, did you know that?” he asked rhetorically. Of course he didn’t know. He’d gone to great lengths to keep him from finding out. This was why Jack Spicer was a special case. This was why he’d tried to drive him away without truly pushing him away.

“Every day you come here,” he continued, “and every day I know you will do something that will make me smile, make me laugh. Every night you leave and I think about you after you’re gone. I wonder a lot of things about you, Jack. But…”

He tilted his head forward, letting his hair fall into his face, trailing across Jack’s cheek. It was hard to confess this, hard to be so vulnerable and open when it meant handing someone else something that they could use against him. Once upon a time he would have been able to admit his feelings with no problems, but he’d made his choices in life and now had to deal with the consequences. Love in his world often resulted in pain.

“I’m scared, Jack. I’m scared of what will happen if someone realizes how I feel about you. Hannibal, Wuya—any number of people wouldn’t hesitate to use you against me.”

Jack pushed himself fully up, giving his hand a small squeeze. He brought his other hand up, placing it gently on his cheek. Chase closed his eyes, turning his face into the pale, slender hand.

“I’m willing to take that risk, Chase,” Jack said, his voice soft but determined. He took a deep breath, taking in the scents of grease and metal that lingered on Jack’s hand.

“I don’t know that I am,” he answered, just as softly. Jack shook his head, mouth setting in a way that was very familiar to him.

“It’s my choice to make, not yours.”

“They could kill you, Jack.”

The very thought brought tears to his eyes, spilling over onto Jack’s hand. The younger man paused, taken aback by the fact that he was crying, then leaned forward. His hand slipped around into his hair as he kissed him.

His lips were chapped, but Chase didn’t mind. The rough edges of his lips as they drug across his own created an intoxicating friction that he wanted more of. His free hand gripped Jack’s hip once more.

“I’m not helpless, Chase, despite what it might seem like,” Jack murmured, pulling back to meet his gaze. He very nearly made a small sound in the back of his throat at the loss of contact, a sound that would have been far too close to a whimper, but he managed to keep it at bay.

“And I have faith that you’ll protect me when I fail to protect myself.”

He shuddered. Too many emotions were coursing through him, overwhelming him. He shouldn’t have given into them. He should have kept them locked away. They were easier to deal with when they were locked away.

“I am not certain I have the same faith in myself that you do,” he said, looking away, “but I do not have the strength to push you away anymore. You would do better to leave of your own accord.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack smiled, that wide, stupid grin he secretly lived for.

“Don’t you know by now? You’re stuck with me.”

He dropped his head gently onto Jack’s shoulder—still mindful of his bruises—taking a deep breath as he clutched his hand tightly. He nodded.

“Yes,” he breathed, “I believe I am.”

Jack’s hand, still in his hair, caressed him lightly.

“Go on,” he said softly, “I know you well enough now to know you need some time alone right now. I’ll just clean myself up and get some rest.”

He sighed, lifting his head to give him a quiet, desperate kiss—needing the intoxication of his lips on his own once more before he retreated.

“My room is through that door,” he said when he finally broke the kiss, indicating a door across the room. Then he was tearing himself away, fleeing to the sanctuary of his room to come to terms with what he’d just done. He paused just before he closed the door behind him.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t elaborate. He had a feeling he didn’t need to.

“You’re welcome, Chase.”

He gave him a small nod, slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him. He forced his legs to carry him across the room, away from the door that was all that separated him from Jack. He made it all the way to his bed before he collapsed, hands pulling at his hair as if the sensation would help him deal with everything attempting to rip him apart. Stupid. He was so stupid. There was nothing that Hannibal Roy Bean wanted more than to utterly destroy him—and he was handing him the quickest and easiest way to do it. Jack had never been of interest to Bean and he’d worked hard to make sure it stayed that way, but now he’d thrown all of that out of the window.

If Jack died because of his own stupidity, he would never forgive himself.

He didn’t stay away for long. He couldn’t, not now that he’d allowed Jack to know how he felt. His own loneliness spurred him to go back to the room he’d had prepared for Jack more than a year ago, the room Jack was never supposed to know about. He had remained alone for so long… he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

His warriors, as much as he cared about them in his own way, had never been able to fill the loneliness that had plagued him from the moment the Lao Mang Lone had first touched his lips. There was a divide between them that couldn’t be crossed. They were his servants—slaves, really, if he was being honest—he was their master. He cared about them, made sure their lives were comfortable and that they wanted for very little, but he still held their freedom in his hands and they were all very aware of that. It made it hard to develop any sort of closeness with them, but he was too selfish to let them go.

He’d had his share of bedmates over the years as well, but he’d never cared for any of them and none of them had been allowed more than one night with him. He’d never even taken them to his own bed, instead taking them to a guest room on the other side of the citadel where they would remain until he sent one of his warriors to kick them out the next morning. He would take his hollow pleasure from them and leave them for his own empty bed.

Jack… He wanted Jack in his bed. He’d given him his own room, a room that connected to his suite, but he really wanted him in his room, in his bed. He want to sleep next to him all night. He… didn’t know how to tell him that.

He crept into Jack’s room, pausing when he found him asleep. He should go back to his room, his cold, empty bed, but the thought seized something in his chest and kept him from turning back around. He didn’t want to be alone. He closed the connecting door quietly and slipped silently across the room, sinking to his knees next to the bed. Jack didn’t wake, his pale face turned toward him. He drank in the sight of him, his fire-bright hair that was starting to show white at the roots, smooth white skin, the eyes that were finally no longer puffy, his small nose, those intoxicating lips he’d held back from kissing so many, many times. His blanket had slipped down, exposing one slim, bruised shoulder. The bruises were already fading thanks to the magic infused in the ointment, but the sight still made him angry, his fingers digging into the mattress.

“Are you just going to be creepy and stare at me or get in bed already?”

Jack’s eyes opened as he asked the question, heavy-lidded and sleepy. His eyes darted up to meet them.

“I…”

Why was this so difficult? Jack gave him a small, crooked smile, reaching out to curl his fingers around his hand and tug lightly. He sighed and allowed the younger man to pull him into the bed. It was smaller than his, the sheets a little rougher—he made a mental note to get him better bedsheets—but it was warm, and he wasn’t alone. He settled into the mattress, wrapping his arms around Jack and holding him as tightly as he dared. The bruises on Jack’s shoulders and chest were already fading, but it would take awhile for the ones on his back to do the same, magic infused ointment or no.

“You’re naked,” he said softly, surprised and struggling not to react to that knowledge. Now was not the time for sex, not when he was injured. Jack shrugged.

“Didn’t want to put on my two-day old clothes after I showered.”

“You could have asked to borrow some of mine.”

“And miss the look on your face when you realized I wasn’t wearing anything? Nah.”

The flippant reply startled a laugh out of him, although he didn’t know why he was surprised. It was exactly what he should have expected from Jack Spicer.

“I really do make you laugh, don’t I?”

He looked back at the young man resting in his arms, ruby eyes looking up at him in surprise and pleased wonder. He nodded, unable to resist pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Everyday,” he assured him quietly. He didn’t know the exact time, but he knew it wasn’t quite midnight yet. He hadn’t missed a day. He hoped he never would.

He caressed Jack’s bare arm lightly, frowning as he realized he had come back with nothing but the clothes he had been wearing.

“I will escort you to gather your things tomorrow,” he said. Jack pulled back from him a little.

“You don’t have to…” he began, trailing off when he gave him a quelling look.

“He hurt you,” he said, quietly but firmly, “I will not allow that to happen again.”

Jack hesitated.

“Won’t everyone know how you feel, though?” he asked, “I thought—”

“You thought I would keep you a secret.”

His tone was flat, perhaps unnecessarily so. Jack cringed and shrunk in his arms. He closed his eyes, realizing he had scared him.

“I apologize, Jack,” he said, caressing his arm again in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture, “But I have no intention of keeping how I feel about you a secret any longer. I… do not think I can.”

He paused, adding softly, “Unless you wish me to…?”

“No!”

The word exploded out of Jack and he relaxed, closing his eyes in his relief.

“No,” Jack continued, a little softer now, “I just thought… I dunno. That you’d be ashamed of me or something.”

“Ashamed?”

His eyes opened again, fixing themselves on the young man who was refusing to meet his gaze.

“I have never been ashamed of how I feel for you, Jack. I simply did not want anyone to use you against me and you be hurt in the process. Despite my fears, you have accepted that risk and have therefore made it pointless to continue hiding my feelings.”

“The things you’ve said to me…”

His voice, already barely above a whisper, trailed off. Chase lifted himself onto his arm, staring down at Jack.

“I was attempting to keep anyone from realizing how I felt,” he said once he’d found his voice, “I didn’t think you were taking any of it seriously. I—You always seemed to disregard—”

He choked on his words, regretting everything he’d ever said to him now. Why was he like this? Did everything he touch crumble into dust? Why did Jack even want to be around him?

“Chase!?”

Numbly, he realized he had collapsed on top of Jack, crying an apology into his precious, abused skin. Jack’s arms wound around him, his voice in his ear hushing him gently. He shifted, trying very hard not to hurt him any further. Jack hooked his leg around his, locking him into place. He buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“I… I’m sorry,” he said shakily when his tears had abated, not sure if he was apologizing for the things he’d said or his emotional outburst. Probably both. Definitely both. Jack was learning firsthand that he was not nearly as strong as he wanted everyone to think he was.

Hands slid through his hair, helping to calm him, but he kept his face pressed into Jack’s neck. He didn’t have the energy to move. Jack hummed softly in his ear, waiting for him to stop trembling before he spoke again.

“It’s a little difficult not to take what you say seriously when I heard it everyday for five years,” he said softly, curling his hand around the back of his head to keep him in place when he would have pulled away, “but I understand why you said them.”

He took a deep, gasping breath. Jack smelled of metal and grease even after his shower. He’d never thought he’d find either aroma soothing.

“I swear to you if I had known I was hurting you that badly I would have stopped.”

“Chase, it’s okay—”

“No it’s not!”

He lifted his head, meeting those ruby eyes with an emotion fierce and deep within him. That emotion softened, giving way to the sorrow that was entrenched in his very soul.

“I hurt you,” he said quietly, lowering his gaze, “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe. I love you.”

His eyes widened. He’d said it. He’d actually said it. Out loud. To him.

“Oh Chase,” Jack breathed, pulling his head up to give him a sweet, lingering kiss.

“I forgive you.”

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. He’d waited so long to hear them, and now Jack—the only person he loved that was left—was saying them. He wondered, briefly, if Dashi had ever forgiven him. He would probably never know.

Guan definitely hadn’t.

“I love you,” he whispered, “I love you. I love you.”

He couldn’t stop saying it. Jack smiled and kissed him again.

“I love you, too—you big softie.”

He didn’t even care that he’d called him a softie, just kept repeating his love, over and over again. He fell asleep tangled in Jack’s arms.

Exactly where he wanted to be.


End file.
